


Very Superstitious

by chucks_prophet



Series: Countdown to Halloween [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bats, Castiel (Supernatural) Has a Cat, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Neighbors, Cats, Dad Dean, Dean and Cats, Dean is Superstitious, First Meetings, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Halloween Night, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Mostly Humor With a Lot of Backstory I'm Not Sure Where It All Came From But I Rolled With It, Neighbors, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Character Death, Past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Rabbit's Foot, Sexual Humor, Superstitions, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 14:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12322521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: “Not only is my asshole father watching me from beyond the grave, there are ghosts in my house, I'm pretty sure I have 7 years of bad luck, and this rabbit's foot didn't stop any of it from happening,” Dean gripes, whipping the foot out of his pocket and holding it up by the key-chain for emphasis. “Yeah, happy fuckin' Halloween."





	Very Superstitious

**Author's Note:**

> Appropriately titled, of course, after the Stevie Wonder hit.

A Daddy Long Legs. In his house. In the middle of the woods.  Who would’ve guessed?

Okay, so maybe finding one crawling up his bathroom mirror isn’t exactly uncommon. But he has to kill it. There’s only room for one dad in this house with long bowlegs, and that’s him, dammit.

That and Dean is highly superstitious—especially around this time of year. And everyone with enough time on their hands knows a spider that shows up in your house on Halloween comes baring more than just its fangs: It’s the message that a deceased loved one is watching over them. The person he’s lost more recently than his best friend Benny is his father, which nearly sent him spiraling back into rehab, so he can’t take that chance.

The only thing his dad left him that’s worth anything is the rabbit’s foot in his pocket. Some cultures believe it to be a symbol that reaps good luck, and on a night like Halloween, he’ll need every last drop he can get—especially when he’s been recently granted visitation rights again with Ben. He’s not going to fuck up again if he can help it. And on a kid’s most important night of the year next to Christmas Eve.

Deciding his makeup is finally done, he takes a few selfies before grabbing his car keys. He debates sending them to Lisa, but knowing they’ve barely made it to _okay_ terms, she would reply with something passive-aggressive about his costume being suitable to his bloodsucking nature.

(In truth, he’s dressed up as a vampire to honor Benny, who, before his own cancer would hospitalize him, would dress up as such for children’s benefits at the local clinic.)

Before he can get one foot out the door, he’s immediately ambushed by a black blur scurrying straight past him. Dean snaps his head behind him and finds a black cat dashing across his loveseat. He swivels his head back to the open door in time for something else big and black to fly full-force at him. Without time for second thought, Dean slams the door and jumps when his ears are assaulted by a heartrate-raising _clunk_ against the large glass window next to him.

“What the—?” Dean breathes once he can actually… well, _breathe._ He pivots behind him again to the cat, perched on the top of the sofa, claws digging into the leather in equal anticipation. Dean chances a glance over at the window, finding, among it being cracked, of all things on the ground where the piercing noise came from, a bat.

Although, it’s far from dead. Probably just stunned, as it starts slowly flapping its wings again. Then it takes off into the twilight of the day.

Great. So not only is he _haunted_ , thanks to the omen from the bat, but to emphasize just how fucked he is, his window is cracked and there’s a black cat on his couch.

Dean takes a deep breath, knowing well enough he has to approach the cat to get it out of here. If all these signs weren’t enough, he’s also allergic, so that’s fan-friggin’-tastic.

Knowing well enough not to ever pick up a cat again after the incident with Spencer Wallis’ cat Phillippe, he pads over to this one with caution, intent on finding a tag. Once he’s close enough, he sees the blue heart tag in question.  The cat’s name is Clarence and his owner: "Castiel?"

As if that name’s the last Latin word in a summoning spell, a super polite demon knocks on his door. Or witch, since black cats are also considered to be a witch’s familiar in the Pagan realm (he’s done his research, alright—are you happy, Sam?)

Dean blinks a few times, having half a mind to scoot into the kitchen for some salt. It may sound ridiculous, along with all the other precautions he’s taken because of superstitions in the last hour, but it’ll only kill you to be a low-sodium freak if and when a demon comes knocking on your door. Or a witch. Or, granted he lives in a prow house during the holidays, separated from the city by ten miles of forestry all around, a serial killer who’s not playing tricks on Halloween. Take your pick.

Dean looks through the peephole, but only gets a glimpse of the guy behind it, who, no joke, _is_ wearing a [witch costume](https://www.amazon.com/Mystery-House-Hansel-Hunter-Costume/dp/B007KX2JW2). It’s a black coat with spiky shoulders that covers a four-layered belt shirt, like the one Hansel wears, and suspends mid-thigh, less than a foot or so away from boots of the same color that look like the ones Dean wears every day to work—those just above ankle-high Global Supreme leathers with the steel toe inserts—with a few extra straps. Super weird, considering he’s a _witch,_ he _creates_ fires in his cauldron bubble, not fights them.

With a little less reluctance weighing heavy on the door knob, Dean turns and pulls the door forward.

And okay, he’s no expert, but last time he envisioned witches, he thought raggedy old lady, big pointy nose, boils as big on her face as their aforementioned cauldron bubbles. But this guy… well, is a _guy_ , first of all, and around Dean’s age, in his mid to late twenties. His dark brown hair is packed with enough volume to get lost in easier than the densest part of the forest and slicked back, out of the way of his tanned face. His nose is average sized, and there are no boils on his face to speak of and he’s got a strong jawline and piercing blue eyes.

"Hi, um... happy Halloween..." The guy says, giving Dean a small wave, which is funny. Judging by the abundantly open collar on his Hansel shirt, he’s less shy showing off that bit of chest hair there…

 Okay. Bisexuality overload. Take a step back, Winchester.

“Not only is my asshole father watching me from beyond the grave, there are ghosts in my house, I'm pretty sure I have 7 years of bad luck, and this rabbit's foot didn't stop any of it from happening,” Dean gripes, whipping the foot out of his pocket and holding it up by the key-chain for emphasis. “Yeah, happy fuckin' Halloween."

"I, um... I'm sorry,” the man replies awkwardly, his voice a little deeper. “I was just going to ask if my cat's here, by chance. He ran out of the house like a bat out of hell a few seconds ago and I think I saw him go in this direction."

Accurate description, Dean thinks. "Ooh,” he says. _Ooh—_ the universal response for ‘I’m a fucking idiot, please excuse my French’. “Um... yeah, he's over here. Come in."

“Clarence, how did you get this far?” the man coos, picking up his cat underneath his little front legs with such ease. Along with everything else about Castiel, it impresses Dean. And don’t get him started when he switches Clarence to one hand to comb his fingers over his forehead. Dean can only stare, dumbfounded, before the guy scoffs at himself, “Where are my manners?” he says, lending out his newly free hand, “My name's Cas, short for Castiel, as I’m sure you saw by the tag. I live across the street.”

“Dean,” he replies, accepting the long, wiry fingers offered to him, “and by across the street, you mean…?”

“Well… you know, not across _any_ street, really,” Cas says, smirking a little as he references to the west of him. “Just that stretch of grass that extends out about a mile between our houses. Which is why I’m super impressed by Clarence here. This has to be a new record.”

“Well to be fair, he _was_ being tailed by a bat.”

Cas’s mouth parts. “A…  no, that can’t be right,” he says. “There aren’t any local caves, and there certainly isn’t any industrial life near here. Unless they’re dwelling in trees. But even so, it’s not maternity season…” Cas must note Dean’s puffed-out lips and narrowed brows, because he laughs. It’s probably the best thing Dean’s heard since getting back visitation hours. “I’m sorry. I’m a wildlife biologist; I tend to ramble about this sort of stuff. You just happen to be another victim that’s nearby to hear it.”

“It’s alright; I should probably know this stuff anyway, since I guess I have a bat problem now.”

“Or you could just have a ghost problem.”

Dean smiles a little. “Yeah. Except, I think I’m more afraid of the bats than the ghosts.”

Cas throws his head back with a smile of his own. “I don’t think I’ve met a vampire afraid of bats.”

“So you’ve met a lot then?”

Cas laughs again and Dean finds that’s pretty much all he wants to hear. But, seeing the clock  on the wall behind Cas sharply ticking fifteen past six: “Well, hey, I have to get on the road—my Bat signal is shining, you know, the dad one. I’m taking my son trick-or-treating tonight.”

“Right,” Cas says, slightly disappointed himself, which makes Dean both happy and sad, “I’ve gotta feed Clarence anyhow before I head out to a party.”

“Alright. Hey, whatever you do, don’t go bobbing for apples,” Dean says as Cas is closer to the door. “You know, being a witch. It’s kind of like being a demon and dunking your head in holy water.”

Cas grins, dare Dean say, wickedly. “Thanks for the warning, but I’m a dead giveaway with the getup already.” He pauses, leaning in closer to Dean. “But, if I make it out alive before the end of the night, maybe we can concoct a little spell of our own.”

And with that and a wink, Cas and Clarence are both gone.

Maybe that rabbit’s foot did work after all.


End file.
